


Act Cadenza

by valediction



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, a replica and his original sit down and have a talk, listen I'll be one of the like three people who cares about original Ion if i have to, pre-canon AU, pronoun confusion ahoy, well i mean it's two characters with the same name, well sitting down is optional
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valediction/pseuds/valediction
Summary: cadenza. n. - a virtuoso solo passage inserted into a movement in a concerto or other work, typically near the end.In which the Fon Master Ion is a little more proactive in seeing to his replica's ability to subvert the Score (and mechanisms of the Order of Lorelei).





	1. Caduceus

**Author's Note:**

> a transplant and mild cleaning up of an older work that I liked. it's been crossposted on my tumblr(s) and elsewhere in the past, but I might as well actually _use_ ao3, you know?

Ion and Ion rarely tended to be in the same place at once. The reasons the Order gave for this were logical enough; his disdain for the previous copies was apparent enough, his moods mercurial, and this particular copy only barely was considered adequate mostly because of the Fon Master’s dwindling ability to endure the taxing replication process. They could not afford to lose this replica. Their meetings would serve no purpose, and it would only add to the risk of people seeing something they shouldn’t, learning things that would throw the order of Daath into chaos. They were kept from each other for good reason, and Ion had possessed little reason to care about the circumstances before. If the other Ion had, then it didn’t matter. During the course of any given day, their routines were scripted out perfectly such that there was only ever one ‘Fon Master Ion.’

For these reasons, the replica Ion had not been expecting a visit from his original, who was perched primly at the other end of the aisle and evaluating one of the books in the closed library with a subdued unhappiness. At least, that’s what Ion thought it might have been, given their shared faces. It was a little hard to tell when the other face was so much unlike what he saw in the mirror.

“Ah,” he started. “This wasn’t how I was told to… Not that I’m saying that you shouldn’t be here,” Ion added, hastily and apologetically, “but they told me that this was something I shouldn’t ever concern myself with.”

The other Ion reshelved the book with an easy grace. Ion watched his movements, the purpose in them, and wondered how people ever could have thought that they were the same. He himself was so terribly clumsy still, despite his preprogrammed knowledge. The thought distracted him enough that he nearly missed his original’s reply.

“They answer to me in the end. At least, that’s how it should be,” the other Ion remarked, with an open candor. “It should be none of their concern. This isn’t something they need to know about.” His gaze flickered over to regard Ion as he spoke, the visible corner of his mouth curling up subtly in what could have passed for a placid smile if the eyes weren't so sharp.

“Ah,” Ion said. “I see.”

“They’ve trained you well, haven’t they?” said Ion mildly. “But yes, I thought it only appropriate to pay a visit to my would-be successor.”

Successor, Ion thought, was a very kind way of saying that he was meant to be a replacement. “Thank you,” he said instead.

His original only laughed. “It’s not supposed to be an honor. We’re the same,” he started, before stopping. “Well. No, we’re not the same. Perhaps we were, once, but not anymore. Things have changed.” The other Ion strode toward him, steps confident and eyes gleaming. “Things have changed, so why shouldn’t we? You can start by not listening to everything they say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ion and Ion coexisted side by side for approximately three abyss months, swapping back and forth and slowly allowing replIon to integrate into the workings of the Order, if only as a figurehead. Like the most morbid twin switch game, ey, given that one of them was dying. But hey, three abyss months is a lot of time, kufufufu.
> 
> the caduceus is the image of two snakes twined around a winged staff. originally a symbol for messengers and commerce and negotiation, amongst other things, it's been confused for the single snake around a cane-- the one that actually represents medicine and healing.


	2. Asclepius

“I think,” the replica Ion said one day, out of the blue. “I think I will miss you.”

The original Ion stilled in the middle of pulling books away. “Don’t say that,” said Ion chidingly, tilting his head to give Ion a strange look. “You’ll make it sound like someone will actually care about my passing.”

The other Ion furrowed his brow, though his shoulders no longer slumped at any reprimand. “Won’t they? I know Mohs follows the Score very strictly, but Van and Arietta at least…”

“Arietta won’t know,” Ion said, voice sharp. “She mustn’t know,” he said, and for all Ion had come to understand his original and grow used to him, he still understood that as the warning it was. Ion shook his head, gaze growing distant. “ _‘Always,’_ she said. It would break her to know she broke her promise. My death would certainly be a failure to her, who doesn’t know of or understand the Score.”

“…You’re being kind to her,” concluded Ion, eyes cast down in thought. 

“We are lying to her,” agreed Ion, tone flecked with an icy humor. He was silent for a moment longer as he set his chosen volumes down on the table next to the door that Ion hadn’t ever dared ask about. 

“Still,” Ion said. He looked directly into his original’s eyes and smiled. “In this case, lying is a kindness. You are kind when you want to be.”

“Ridiculous,” the other Ion scoffed. “If I said that I only wanted her to not do something reckless in the wake of my death, wasting the one existence in Daath that is completely untouched by the Score, would you say that was me being kind?”

“No.” Ion continued smiling. That patience, Ion noted, was only one of the things that set them apart. “I’d say that you were lying.”

“… You are growing very impertinent.” The original Ion propped himself up on the table next to his pile of books, eyes narrowed. For a long moment, they simply held each other’s gazes, neither one faltering. Eventually, Ion closed his eyes and sagged against his staff, sighing even as the corner of his mouth crooked upwards. “Good.”

Ion felt very much like he’d just passed some sort of unspoken test that he only barely managed to come out intact from. That could very much be true, he’d reflect in the future, given that his original’s moods could be somewhat mercurial at the best of times. Still, emboldened, he pressed on. “Van, then.”

The other Ion drummed his fingers on the staff at his side as he studied it. “Van is a friend,” he said eventually. “One of my closest.” The Fon Master looked up at his twin then, and though his original’s expression was the same serene smile he always wore, Ion felt a little sad at the sight of it. “One of my only friends,” Ion continued. He stopped drumming. “I won’t deny, however, that I was convenient. He wished to usurp the Score. Why not ally himself with the future head of the organization in charge of it?”

Ion frowned slightly. “That’s an awfully cold way of looking at it.”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Ion said. “It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. And we did not dislike each other’s company. It was… comfortable. He didn’t see me as Fon Master Ion, but Ion. Still, I have no illusions that were it not for my position in the first place, Van would never have sought me out to know me for who I was at all.” Something in his shoulders drooped, the most weakness his comportment and training allowed him to show. “And I have no illusions that I haven’t already been as useful to him as I’ll ever be.”

“But he will care, won’t he?” Ion couldn’t believe that a friendship would mean so little as for it to be otherwise. 

“I am mere months away from death, if even that,” said Ion. “I have already served any purpose I can to him. You are Fon Master more often than I am these days.” Still, his head dipped a little. “That said, I am sure he will remember me,” he conceded. “But Van will not mourn.”

“He’s surely human,” Ion insisted. 

“If he allows it to distract him from his goals then I will find a way to reprimand him myself. From the Fon Belt, if need be.”

“Is that possible?” The replica Ion’s eyes were wide. 

“Maybe not from the Fon Belt,” the original said, but the secretive smile remained. Ion didn’t ask. 

“…Well,” the replica demurred, regrouping. “I’ll miss you, at least. You’ve kept me more company than anyone else has. I might not have known it then, but now I’m afraid of how much power Mohs would have had over me if you hadn’t stopped by the library those weeks ago.”

The other Ion’s smile vanished, his brows furrowing instead in uncanny replication of the expression Ion had worn only minutes earlier. “Yes, Mohs. It slipped my mind until you mentioned him again just now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you faced assassination threats after my death if you carry on as we have.”

Startled, Ion thought on it for a moment. Then he said, quietly, “Oh.”

“Yes,” Ion confirmed mildly. “I am protected. The Score says I am to die at twelve, no sooner. As much as it displeases me, the thing that condemns me also protects me from any untoward incidents. Despite our clearly differing stances, Mohs cannot act against me lest he go against the Score.”

“But as a replica, I won’t have the same benefit,” Ion murmured. 

“Some benefit,” said Ion. “No, it’s not because you’re a replica, but because you’re not in the Score. You’re an unknown. Mohs won’t like that at all. I don't believe he would be so reckless, but...” He huffed out a breath. “This is somewhat vexing. Do be careful with yourself and Arietta, will you? I won’t have that preservation research go to waste because you were careless.”

“Of course I will. I’ll take care of her,” Ion said emphatically, before he paused. “I will still miss you, you know. If you need to know, one person will care, at least.”

But the other Ion only laughed at that, returning Ion’s hesitant smile with a wider one of his own. “Don’t be silly. Imagine what Arietta would think? Fon Master Ion cannot mourn Fon Master Ion. Besides, you’re too kind for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manipulate this, Mohs.
> 
> the (rod/staff) of asclepius is the cane wielded by the god of the same name in greek mythology. it's the rod with the single serpent entwined around it mentioned in the endnotes of last chapter, and never is depicted with wings of any sort. it represents medicine and healing.


	3. Hygieia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these are not necessarily all in order.

It isn’t until after they’ve retreated to the library that Ion has come to think of as their own, shared space (a sanctum, maybe) that his original finally dispenses with the formalities and guises.

(Or maybe it is Ion who retreats and _Ion_ who directs.)

“Infuriating,” his original seethes [in that quietly frigid, brittle way he does, with frozen too wide smiles and pinprick pupils in wide-blown eyes](http://i.imgur.com/QfsskHn.png), pacing steadily up and down the aisle with an energy he seldom possesses anymore. The _clack-clack_ of his staff beats a steady tattoo between the aged tomes. “That man is absolutely infuriating. Who does he think he is? Clearly he’s grown too confident, too comfortable in his position. He forgets his place. He is _not_ the sole authority of Da'ath, even if his head is swelled enough to believe it!”

“Mmm,” Ion agrees noncommittally, voice quiet. He can’t quite muster the effort to watch his original, who even now wears anger and indignance with a self-assurance he can’t find it in himself to replicate, whether because of a lack of strength or… something else. Shame, most likely. He’d been so easily spoken over, dismissed as if he weren’t present at all. It wasn’t very uncommon an occurrence for a replacement being groomed to only be a figurehead.

What was uncommon was the fact that his original had been there to see it, this time. Ion can see clearly now that— while most of the populace could never tell the difference between the two of them as they traded the mantle of Fon Master back and forth— he and his original are very different. 

Something like failure burns at the back of his throat, [but Ion musters up a weak smile of his own to pretend it away](http://i.imgur.com/azGKo7m.jpg). “He doesn’t hold much love for replicas, it’s clear,” he says. As he speaks he wonders if the attempt at placation is directed more at his original or himself. “I suppose I can understand his actions given the circumstances… not that I am happy about it, but it only makes sense that he would not listen to me.”

Ion whirls toward him, eyes alight.

“You _are_ me,” Ion snaps. “Not as an entity, clearly, but in every way that should matter to them, _you are me_. You possess my power, my position, my authority. Any disrespect against you is a slight against _me_.” His gaze bore in on Ion himself. “You _have_ all these things,” he repeated. “Why don’t you use them? Why...” and here he falters, the cloak of indignant fury on _Ion’s_ behalf parting for just long enough to reveal the mien of someone helplessly, wonderingly lost instead, “why don’t you defend yourself?”


	4. Valetudo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> directly follows Hygieia.

“…They’ve always told me to listen,” Ion says, quietly. The other Ion’s stance settles into something no less agitated, but, at least, more contained, eyes flickering sharply up and down over the other’s form before closing themselves off. Ion doesn’t notice, still unable to meet his original’s gaze for the insensate feeling of shame burning through him. “I knew… the others were thrown away because they weren’t good enough. So I listened. That… that _was_ , defending myself. I thought. If I was a good replacement, then they wouldn’t make a replacement for me.”

Ion’s head tilts, and the slant of his mouth goes thin. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t quite frown. 

At the corner of his mind somewhere, he acknowledges that the cavalier handling of the first set of replicas was, perhaps, a poor way of doing things in retrospect, if only because it was the cause of things like this. He thinks of the first replica, of its blood on his hands and robes that had taken time to clean out. 

His seventh replica’s thinking is… reasonable, really, even if he isn’t happy about it. “I thought we established already,” he says instead, “that you shouldn’t be listening to them anymore." His voice is soft in the cultivated way that many have mistaken for gentleness. "I told you that when we first met.”

“You did.” The replica Ion’s gaze is still cast down and away. “But…”

Most in the Order would have left it at that, at acknowledgment of a direct command from the Fon Master. _Of course, Fon Master; so sorry, Fon Master, our apologies, Your Holiness._ Whether it is because Ion doesn’t know enough to fear his original yet, or because he knows enough to _not_ fear his original isn’t clear, but. But.

Unlike most in the Order, Ion continues.

“But,” he says miserably, “Isn’t that… still listening to someone else?”

“No,” Ion says, without thinking. “Well, yes. But.” He stops. It’s different. He’d taken that as a given, but he supposes his replica didn’t. They were both Fon Master Ion, after all. It's different if it's yourself.

The same corner of his mind from before wonders what else is the same way, what other givens he’d accepted that his replica did not. 

He compartmentalizes his disquiet, and musters his patience instead, fingers closing tighter around his staff. “You have to decide who’s worth listening to. Who isn’t.” He thinks of Van, and his crusade to destroy the Score that seems more distant to him for each day bringing him closer to his foretold end. “Just because whatever you do aligns with what someone told you to do doesn’t mean that you listened to them. Not really.”

Ion only stands where he is, posture working to make himself look as small as possible. (That, too, is a defense, and Ion is unhappy to recognize it for what it is now, rather than a fault of correctable meekness.) “…I don’t think they would have been happy with me if I’d ignored them.”

 _Then don’t_ , the original Ion wants to snap. Argue back, explain to them that their demands and requests are ridiculous, couched in more diplomatic speech. Rejection isn’t dismissal. Engagement with something wasn’t ignoring it.

But he looks at his replica again. The other Ion is tired, and miserable, and humiliated. His replica’s head is bowed with a shame that he cannot castigate.

…He had assumed, it seems, that the Score alone was what fettered him. That his replica, free from the Score, would thereby be beyond bindings of his own. 

He thinks of the parents he never knew, the ones who happily gave him up at the behest of a dead woman’s prophecy. He thinks of the clergy who were so eager to begin grooming him in anticipation for the Fon Master Evenos' death.

 _You are special_ , heralds-heralded-will herald the Score. _Ion, born to peasant parents in Malkuth, will be Fon Master. You have the ability to actually know everything that happens in this world._

Ion is Fon Master. Special enough to snatch away from childhood and mold into a people's role, but not enough to save. He knows everything, up to his own death. And what he knows controls him, just as it controls every other person born into the Planet’s Memory. But the other Ion was not born that way. His knowledge should be free.

But if it isn’t one thing, it’s another, it seems. Control stems from multiple places. It will always be- something. If it is not the Score itself, then it is the trash shackled to it. One way or another, they would seek to use him, all for a meaningless title.

Ion–

has made a mistake, it seems.

Ion stills, and remains that way for a long moment.

“…I’m going,” he says. “Do not try to find me. Carry on as usual. I need to sort things out.

"Keep yourself safe," he adds in the doorway, and then he is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> for the record, i do take [writing prompts!](http://coevalities.tumblr.com/ask) i can't guarantee everything sent in will be written if i'm not feeling it/it wouldn't quite fit into the timeline, but feel free to send something in if you want to see it, either for this or... anything, really?


End file.
